


We Shall Meet, Again and Again

by Whookami



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Blood and Violence, Destiny, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 16:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5055787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whookami/pseuds/Whookami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One morning in the heart of winter two youths meet in a snowy clearing. An encounter of surprises, of desperation and death, of uncertainty and sacrifice. And a promise that this is not the end. They will meet again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Shall Meet, Again and Again

**Author's Note:**

> This is a somewhat strange story, one I was kind of hesitant to post because I'm not sure how others will feel about it? I wrote it specifically as Bran and Jojen, so I truly hope you'll give it a chance and read through to the end. I hope you enjoy!

He hunkered down silently beneath the weighted bows of a pine tree, eyes staring forward with fervent intensity. His stomach twisted painfully inside his body, a result of finding himself without a pack and in such poor territory. Few other animals lurked in these dying woods, the snow covering everything in a thick shroud of white. Now though the young wolf had scented warmth and blood and life in the air, and it drew him forward inexorably. With silent footfalls he crept closer to the small clearing, sticking low beneath the trees, skirting around bushes to provide himself cover. 

 

Alone in the clearing stood a young deer, a stag by scent. It was small and gangly, it's limbs lean and underfed. It was not only the predators that suffered from lack of food in these woods. Probably the pitiable creature had been abandoned by its own kind, too weak to keep up with the herd. It made no difference to the young wolf, his mouth salivating from the rich aroma of blood waiting just beneath the deer's thin hide. It's fur was a peculiar white, much like the snow that coated the forest, but it glistened in the soft morning light. The youngling had no antlers, having already shed them or never having had them, leaving it vulnerable and nearly defenceless against the hungry predator. 

 

His haunches wiggled in anticipation, readying himself for the leap forward. The stag used one of it's slender legs to break through the thin film of ice covering a small river that cut through the clearing. The creature gave one last cautious look around with its huge black eyes before it lowered its head and began to drink from the sluggishly flowing water.

 

The wolf could feel his own heart thumping loudly in his chest and bounded forward desperately, entirely focussed on his prey. His paws churned up great plumes of snow as he leapt across the small glade, teeth bared and a snarl coming from the back of his throat. Ordinarily the young wolf should have had his family there to help him, to box the animal in and harry it from multiple sides, but it had been a long time since he had last seen his pack. They had been separated during a violent storm, the very air scourging them as they ran for cover. Young and inexperienced, the wolf had found himself far away in lands he didn't recognize when the skies cleared. He knew not where his pack had gone, only hoping that he might survive long enough for them to find him again. In order to do that it meant he needed to take down this stag on his own, normally a tough ask of a single wolf of any age, but the creature looked weak and delicate, easy prey. 

 

The reaction time of the stag was quick beyond belief however, the creature turning to dash deeper into the forest in the same instant that the wolf leapt from cover. The hunter had no time to waste wondering how his prey had sensed him so quickly though, growling as he corrected his course to chase the fleeing beast. He watched as the petit stag bound away, it's body moving with a fluid grace that belied its fragile appearance. It leapt and danced over the landscape, avoiding all the branches and thickets of snow that might stall it, that might give the young wolf time to catch up. The hunter was undeterred, knowing that this might be the only thing that stood between him and death, that this meal might make the difference. The wolf continued to race forward, his stomach lurching painfully as he forced himself to keep moving. Ahead of him the sight of the stag faded, the creature's long limbs and faultless trail carrying it forward with an effortlessness that bordered on the unnatural. The wolf slowed and trotted on, only sheer desperation and need keeping him on his paws. He could no longer even hear his quarry escaping through the branches and bushes of the deep wilds, and in his heart he began to feel the first suffocating tendrils of fear quake inside himself. 

 

He wanted to howl, to growl and snarl and gnash his teeth in frustration. The wolf knew that this had been his greatest, and perhaps last, chance to feed. His entire body ached, feeling hollow and drawn thin. He wanted only to lie down in a cave, surrounded by his pack, to bury himself against their warmth and sleep. Those nights felt so far away now, so impossible. The wolf knew that if he stopped moving forward he would probably never move again. He didn't want to die alone in these blighted woods, far away from all he knew and loved. With these dismal thoughts the wolf pushed wearily past a withered bush and into another clearing. 

 

Startled, the pup brought himself up short. Standing in the middle of the quiet glade stood the figure of the stag, it's thin body noticeably trembling in the icy air. It danced lightly on its hooves, timid footfalls tamping down the snow around it. He didn't know what to do, his body so tired and worn from the effort of the chase, so defeated at losing his prey. The stag had returned however, it had come back. Why would the creature act so brazenly? Did it mean to taunt the wolf, to dance about him on nimble feet until the wolf no longer had even the strength to snap its jaws at him? How cruel his former prey was. 

 

In contrast to what the wolf thought, the deer took two shy steps towards its hunter before it collapsed down upon its knees to lay on the powdered white snow. Though the creature's flanks still heaved with each breath, the stag watched the wolf calmly with one bright black eye as it carefully laid its neck along the ground. 

 

The hunter moved forward as if drawn towards the trembling deer by forces unknown. This miracle couldn't possibly be happening, the wolf told itself, even as his mouth slavered hungrily. With worry and indecision he paced in a semi circle before the prone animal, the snow crunching coldly beneath his paws. It made no move to escape, or to pull itself back into a standing position. The pale white deer just continued to gaze at the wolf with his single visible eye, solemn and waiting. 

 

Tentatively the wolf stepped forward, jaws snapping at the stag's hind legs. He wasn't hurting the animal, only trying to startle it, waiting for it to regain itself and run once more. The stag didn't move. The young pup growled deep in his chest and lunged at the neck of the fragile beast, his keen fangs gnashing only an inch from the deer's hide. Still, it made no movement, save for the rise and fall of its breath, evening out now after their frantic chase. 

 

Most odd to the wolf was the scent of his prey. He could detect no fear, nor illness, from the deer. There was nothing to explain why it had stopped to wait for him, why it had laid itself out across the ground for the wolf to see. It had gotten away by all rights, it had escaped and should have been miles away by now. It was gangly and underfed, much as the wolf himself, but did not seem in as dire of straits yet. The creature had no reason to give in and accept its death, at least none that the wolf could decipher. 

 

The stag tilted it's head, giving the wolf full sight and access of it's soft fur covered throat. It was near maddening, the scent of blood and flesh so close, so immediate and within the pup's grasp, yet he felt troubled by the situation. The wolf didn't understand why he hesitated, why despite being on the brink of starvation, he wanted to let his prey go. He gave it every opportunity to run, but the deer stubbornly refused. It lay patiently as the wolf studied it, knowing that in the end things would occur as they must. It felt no need to fight its fate, that much was clear to the hunter, it was waiting on him now. 

 

Cautiously the wolf stepped forward once more, his eyes round and wary as he bit at the stag's shoulder. It shuddered slightly as the wolf's fangs pierced its flesh, but made no move to escape. The wolf snapped his jaws closed again, blood beginning to seep sluggishly from the creature's grazed flesh. The small stag's breathing grew rapid and scared once more, but it remained silent and stoic as the wolf lapped greedily at the warm sustenance. Unable to hold itself back any longer, hunger racing through his mind like a storm, the wolf's jaws dug deep into the stag's stringy flesh, tearing and rending as he started to feed. 

 

Pain filled the eye of the creature, it's nostrils flaring as it struggled to remain calm. It's body shook and quavered, but it's resolution held firm. It made no move, save to exhale slowly, as the wolf's sharp teeth tore and gouged it's thin body. It would all be alright. 

 

As if struck by this thought the wolf raised its head, jaws stained red from his feasting, and he stepped backward clumsily. It was madness that the creature remained, that it had allowed this, yet the look it gave the hungry wolf was one of acceptance, and perhaps even reverence. It encouraged the pup to continue with one slight nod, urging the hunter to carry on. Uncertain golden eyes stared down silently into the inky depths of one determined black orb. Despite the pain it must be feeling, despite its fear, the deer was clearly telling the wolf to continue. It was telling the wolf that it must survive. To that end the pale stag was willing to sacrifice itself. 

 

Far off in some dim corner of the wolf's mind something sparked and crackled through the back of its thoughts. Something dark and long since passed sighed in its sleep, sighed and then let out a noise that sounded like a broken sob, and then went quiet again. The wolf didn't understand, could never understand, and it didn't have to. It understood all it needed to; this stag for some reason had chosen to give itself over to its hunter. It had done this willingly, and in return the wolf could at least give the animal the mercy of a quick death. 

 

The haggard form of the young wolf stood over the stag as he opened his jaws and took the neck of the creature gently between his teeth. He could feel the flutter of it's heartbeat, could taste the richness of its skin. He looked over from the corner of his eye, and never breaking gaze, the wolf clashed his jaws together violently, fangs tearing deep into flesh and sinew as it tore the throat from the helpless stag. Crimson spilled out into the trodden snow, steaming in the cold as it gushed from the ruin of the young deer's neck. The once bright black eye had grown dim as the wolf watched in silent vigil. He could feel the life leaving the creature, could sense that it was departing from this world toward somewhere unknown. Gravely the wolf took one step towards the head of the animal and lapped his tongue over the stag's fur covered cheek. The eye of the stag was a well of pain, but buried deep within, the creature looked calm and satisfied. The wolf could've sworn that the final look the creature gave him before it left was one of gratitude. It had given itself to him with a sense of gladness, with no regrets. 

 

Despite the hunger now clawing desperately within his belly, the wolf forced himself to wait until he was certain the soul of the poor stag had left. Once he was sure, the pup sank his teeth into the stag's stomach, tearing into it with voracious glee. The meat of the creature was lean and stringy from hard times, but it was young and nourishing. It tasted of life. It tasted like the promise of spring to come. It tasted familiar, of a time and place long since passed, long since over. A time the wolf was better off to not remember, to not pry at. No, the wolf decided that not understanding was best as he set about filling his stomach with the flesh of the stag who had given its life to him. And if a name, not that the wolf understood such a concept, was whispered in the back of his mind as he ate, he ignored it. And if later that night, as the wolf laid buried beneath the bows of a pine tree and by a thick layer of snow, it heard a voice in its sleep, a voice that was painfully familiar, calling out to him "Don't worry, we'll meet again, my prince," well, the young wolf ignored that too. 

 

Or at least, he pretended he did. He pretended in the waking world, in the bright sunshine of the plain day. But in the world of dreams he ran every night, certain that he could hear the stag still racing in front of him, he knew without knowing how that one day again the creature would stop and be waiting for him. In one world or the next, one form or another, he would find him again, and again. It was a destiny that spiralled forward before him, unbreakable and unavoidable. Despite how bleak and hopeless that sounded, somehow the young pup took great comfort in that certainty. 

 

In his sleep the wolf twitched his paws, and if one could say that a wolf were smiling, well, this wolf certainly was.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I hope you stayed with me until this point! I might continue this at some point, with more chapters about the various meetings these two have through out the long course of history. I predict that those stories would be with them as humans about 90% of the time. 
> 
> This idea just came to me though, and the idea was so Bran and Jojen to me that I started writing and was done in about and hour. I know Jojen's heraldry is that of a lizard-lion, but there was no way to make that fit the idea I had, so a small white stag instead. (Thomas Brodie-Sangster fits a stag way better too, all long limbs and slim build. It just fits.)
> 
> Thanks for reading and I'd love any comments or kudos. Thanks again!


End file.
